VFD Training Days
by one.long.melody
Summary: For the very first time, Jerome Squalor is given the opportunity to achieve the confidence he has pined for all his life. But will the road ahead be more than he bargained for?
1. Chapter 1

I do not own _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Cora, Maxwell, and Andrew Squalor belong to me.

* * *

"I had an interesting conversation with Thomas Snicket this afternoon," announced Maxwell Squalor, as he tapped the ashes of his cigar into the ashtray beside him on the table. "He informed me that he and Linda are in the process of preparing the triplets for their V.F.D. Training School entrance exams. Apparently all three have been thriving under the support of their tutors. Especially that Kit, but you know how bright _she _is. When Thomas asked if I'd given any thought to the future education the boys, I told him flat out that Andrew could pass the exam _blindfolded_ if he had to."

Cora Squalor's gaze fell away from her husband's and settled on the face of Jerome, their eldest son. He had only recently turned sixteen and still lived in the shadows when it came to his father. At a very young age, Jerome had fallen under the impression that he was not the sort of boy a man of power like Maxwell Squalor would want as an heir. Never did Maxwell make any attempts to conceal the fact that he preferred his youngest son, Andrew, over Jerome. While Jerome was painfully shy and not very clever, Andrew was outgoing and did well in both school _and_ a variety of extracurricular activities. Even at just ten years old, he expressed an interest in economics—whereas at his age, the only economics Jerome had been interested in were those of the home variety. Those associated with the Squalors were constantly asking about Andrew, about how he was faring in his studies and how his latest football game had gone. The only time Jerome ever heard his name mentioned in a conversation between his parents and their friends was when someone asked if he had managed to pull up one or more of his grades.

Cora—who had an older sister she was continuously being compared to in her younger days—sensed her eldest son's feelings at the mention of his younger brother. Giving Jerome a reassuring smile, she turned once more to her husband.

"What about Jerome?" asked Cora, her voice as timid as her son's every time either of them questioned Maxwell.

"Jerome?" Maxwell repeated, and waved his hand in Jerome's direction. "He's sitting right over there, silent as usual."

Cora saw no reason to remind her husband that Jerome's silence was the result of his father failing to take him or his interests into consideration. And besides, the last thing she wanted was to have Maxwell argue with her in front of their two sons. "That wasn't what I meant." Cora bit her lip and continued to tread carefully across the vast waters of her husband's short temper. "What I meant was did you happen to mention to Thomas that Jerome just turned sixteen?"

Maxwell cleared his throat uncomfortably, as if his wife's question had caught him off guard. He dragged on his cigar as he pondered ways to answer her.

Finally, after a moment or two of silence, he lowered his cigar and balanced its tip on the edge of the ashtray. Turning to his wife, he answered as if she thought she'd asked him to stop at the store for ice-cream when she actually hadn't. "No."

Cora seemed to lose her nerve, but then caught sight of the longing expression in Jerome's eyes. Even Andrew looked as though he were expecting something more than just the usual "Oh" from their mother.

Biting her lower lip, she looked her husband in the eye and said, "Well, perhaps when you speak to him again, you can do that."

"What for?" Maxwell asked. "From the sound of it, one might think you're suggesting we sign _Jerome _up for that exam."

"Well, maybe I _am _suggesting it," Cora replied in the most argumentative tone she had used on Maxwell in the twenty years they'd known each other.

Their eyes wide, the Squalor siblings exchanged looks of astonishment.

"You know what low self esteem he has," Cora went on. "If he passes this exam and gets into the academy, just think of what it will mean for him—for his _future."_

"And if he fails?" Maxwell countered. "You know what he's like during tests, Cora. He can study for weeks and weeks and _still _manage to fail. The only subject he excels in is home economics, and what good will _that _do him in life?" The billionaire chuckled bitterly, and Jerome felt his heart sink as if someone had tied an anchor to it. Andrew gave his brother a sympathetic look, while Cora lowered her eyes to her plate.

"I just think it will be a good experience for him," she explained, her voice wavering. "I won't deny the possibility that he'll fail, but I refuse to believe that he can't possibly pass."

"Very well." Maxwell's voice was gruff as he stamped out his cigar in the ashtray. "Do what you will, but don't you or Jerome come crying to me when all this blows up in your faces."

Rising from his chair, Maxwell Squalor turned and exited the dining room. A few moments later, his wife and sons heard the thunderous sound of his study door slamming shut.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Cora, Maxwell, and Andrew Squalor belong to me.

* * *

Subsequent to the conversation with her husband, Cora Squalor set to work on securing the future of her eldest son. She hired the best tutors the Squalor fortune could buy, always making sure to ask after her friends and do the necessary research beforehand. Jerome wasn't stupid by any extent, but there was no denying the way he wouldn't be even halfway done with his homework before Andrew had finished his. It wasn't difficult for Cora to imagine just how frustrating it must be for Jerome, who was forever competing with his younger brother. Andrew did not appear to recognize this fact, and if he did it certainly did nothing to alter his admiration of Jerome. For as long as Cora could remember, Andrew had always wanted to do everything his elder brother did; from riding a two-wheeler to watching a PG-13 movie. Jerome never seemed to mind the way Andrew was always so determined to tag along, whether it involved just the two of them or a group of Jerome's friends. It was only when Cora saw just how patient Jerome was with Andrew that she was able to truly appreciate her eldest's inability to argue.

She supposed that part of his personality was all her fault, really. Perhaps if she'd tried harder to overcome her own passiveness before having children, then she might have spared her son from suffering the way she had. She might even be able to spare herself from living with the secret of what her husband was _really _doing downtown at his office late at night, when he claimed to be working.

Rather than dwell on such unpleasantness, Cora set her mind to her present task. Earlier that morning, Linda Snicket had rung with the name and number of an instructor who she and Thomas had hired to tutor Lemony, Kit, and Jacques on the drama section of the exam. "He teaches acting at the V.F.D. Training School," Linda explained, "and has a daughter the same age as the triplets who'll be attending the academy." She had then added with a light chuckle, "Maybe she can even date your Jerome."

It was difficult to imagine Jerome dating anyone, Cora speculated. He didn't lack interest in girls like his best friend Jacques did, but Jerome was _terribly_ awkward when it came to approaching those of the opposite gender. He would start to stutter and perspire, until the girl grew bored and went in search of another boy who was more sure of himself.

Even at ten years old, Andrew was perfectly comfortable talking to girls and was known to show off to them whenever the opportunity arose. Women at the Squalors' country club were constantly approaching Cora with invitations for Andrew to attend their daughters' birthday parties. Sadly, the only parties Jerome was ever invited to were those thrown by the Snickets, whose children had been his only friends for as long as he or his mother could remember. Aside from the girls in his home economics class who saw him no differently than they would one of their girlfriends, Jerome was not popular with anyone. He never attended any school dances unless his father pushed him into it. The fact that he had been turned down by nearly every girl at Blue Melody Academy had only lessened what was practically his non-existent self esteem.

Frowning to herself, Cora pulled open one of the top drawers of her sewing table from which she took out a slip of paper. On it was written the name and telephone number of the tutor Linda Snicket had recommended Cora hire for Jerome. Cora strolled gracefully across the room to where there were an armchair and a small, circular end-table with a telephone on it. Lowering herself into the chair, she picked up the telephone and dialed the number on the slip of paper. It rang an average of six times before she heard a click, followed by a deep, raspy voice on the opposite line.

"_Yes?"_

The anxiety Cora had experienced as a child suddenly returned with a vengeance, making her feel as though she'd been caught in an oceanic whirlpool that tossed her about mercilessly. Whatever she'd been planning to say was ripped away from her like her favorite doll had been, when her parents decided she was too old for such childish things. Clenching her fist, she waited anxiously for the intimidating voice to continue.

"_Well? Who is this? If you don't answer in the next two seconds I'm hanging up. I'm a very busy man and don't have all day to waste on people who call and then don't say anything."_

"I'm sorry," said Cora, and pushed past the brink of her timidity for the sake of her son. "There must have been a bad connection. I can hear you clearly now, though."

"_I'm so happy for you," _returned the voice, whose tone indicated its owner—who was obviously male— wasn't happy at all. In fact, they sounded quite annoyed. _"Now, what is your reason for calling me so early on a Monday morning?"_

Cora could almost see the flames of frustration smoldering in the man's eyes. "I was recently informed by a colleague of mine that a man by the name of Al Funcoot was offering to tutor potential students." She paused. "Your name wouldn't happen to be Al Funcoot, would it?"

"_As a matter of fact," _said the man, his voice soft as velvet this time, _"it would. What can I do for you, Miss…"_

"Squalor. Cora Squalor. I'm looking for someone with experience in theater to tutor my son. He'll be taking the exam for the V.F.D. Training School next month and needs someone with experience to help him prepare for that section." Again she stopped, and added, "If I'm not mistaken, you yourself are an instructor at the school."

"_Indeed I am, Mrs. Squalor. As I'm sure you can probably imagine living on a teacher's salary has its limitations. Especially when you're raising a teenager who's got an eye for designer clothing. So I offer tutoring sessions in between semesters. Tutoring pays less than a full-time teaching position, but it keeps us from going broke. And sometimes a little proves to be a lot in this world, doesn't it?"_

"How much do you usually charge per session?" Cora asked. It wasn't something she was concerned about—the Squalors were the wealthiest family in the whole of the city, after all. She was simply curious so that she'd know what amount of money to write on the checks. Maxwell didn't so much as bat an eyelash to the amount of money his wife spent, as long as she didn't ask any questions about where he went late at night. But she never did, and so her rights stayed well within the boundaries of what had always been an unsigned agreement.

"_It's an hourly charge of thirty dollars. How many sessions per week were you planning to schedule your son for?"_

"How does twice a week sound? You can come by on Thursdays after lunch. Jerome would have had his disguise training session that morning, so he'll have plenty of time for another before the day is over."

Cora went on to specify a specific time and to give Al Funcoot her address.

"_Excellent. I'll see you and your son Thursday at two."_

"We'll be expecting you."

"_Good day to you, Mrs. Squalor."_

"You, too, Mr. Funcoot."


End file.
